


Belonging

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Markiplier Egos
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14355630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Because a certain someone challenged me to write fluff completely devoid of angst. Bing and Google on a lonely afternoon.





	Belonging

Bing forgot, sometimes, where he ended and Google began. Long gone was the stiffness of one arm over another: now, it was shoulder to shoulder, a head against a willing lap, hands in the other’s hair. It was the weight against their backs at night, with all the familiarity of a worn jacket over a chair. In a word, they  _belonged_.

“What are—what are you doing?”

“Nothin’.”

“Obviously not.” Google spared a glance away from his computer, eyes flashing a soft blue. “Bing, please. You are being ridiculous.”

“Aww, do I detect  _fondness_?” Bing looked up from where he was spread-eagle on the floor in a patch of sun, a foot propped on the edge of Google’s chair. As Google glared down at him, a soft smile tugging at his mouth, Bing pushed the chair away on squeaking wheels.

“You detect annoyance.” Google rolled away from his desk, turning his full attention to Bing. “I  _am_  trying to work.”

“And?” Bing gave the chair a kick for good measure before going back to staring at the ceiling, his sunglasses pushed into his hair. “I’m bored, Googs.”

Google sighed, the whirring of fans as he gave his work up for good. He sat, almost gingerly, on the floor next to Bing. “Do you expect me to fix this?”

“Well, yeah.” Bing waited until Google had settled down, his fingers tangled in Bing’s hair. “Who else is supposed to fix it?”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“I know.”

“You are an idiot.”

“I know.” Bing reached up to rest a hand on top of Google’s, stilling his fingers. “Your idiot, though.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Google stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Are you doing all right, Bing?”

“Jus’ tired.”

“Is your battery low, or do you need—”

“Nah, I’m…” Bing cut himself off, waving his hands in the air. “Jus’ tired,” Bing repeated, tipping his head back to look at Google.

Google’s fans buzzed, and he ran his hand across Bing’s hair. Over, and over, repetitive and soft and almost mindless. Late afternoon lent itself to long shadows, golden light spilling though the windows.

Bing watched Google’s face, quiet. A day of squinting at lines of code had never done either of them any favors, and Google overworked himself. Now, the day faded from his face as easily as a cloud giving way the sun. Bing could have sworn, for a moment, that Google smiled to himself.

“Hey, Googs?”

Google beeped gently, eyes widening. “Yes?”

“I…” Bing paused for a moment, lost. There was so much to say, and no way to say it. ‘I love you’ no longer sufficed. The glow of Google’s eyes, the world inside, the understanding that passed between them: it was all beyond him, the way the setting sun was beyond the grasp of simple lens and camera. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Google, for once, allowed himself to listen to words unsaid. “I am glad, too, Bing.”

Understanding, a ripple in still water, and Bing’s eyes flickered warmly. “This is it, isn’t it?”

“You will have to be more specific.”

Silence, Bing finding the words as Google drew Bing’s head into his lap, gentle fingers across his brow.

“Contentment,” Bing decided, looking up again. “Endgame. Like I’m supposed to be here. Or something.”

“Endearing.”

“I’ve found contentment,” Bing half-announced, half-mumbled into Google’s lap, “laying on the floor in an empty room.”

“I am here too.”

“You don’t count.” Bing looked up, grinning, and Google tried and failed to hide a pleased, secret smile.

On the floor in an empty room, Google lost himself in Bing’s steady breaths. It was peace, pure and simple.

Draped unceremoniously between Google and the ground, Bing found himself memorizing every detail of the moment, every painful passing second. If there was ever a moment he could have stopped, even given the improbability of manipulating space-time, it would have been this.

A sun-dappled afternoon, the safety of Google’s lap, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. 

_You’re home, where secrets are told; see a new world unfolding._

_Where hearts are one, the pain’s undone; and you’re finally belonging._


End file.
